


We're Fractions of a Star

by Asrael_Valtiri



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Armitage Hux is very forward, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben Solo's quarter life crisis, Drinking, Even the Devil Needs A Hug, Jedistormpilot (mentioned), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Musicians, Soft Kylux, the Devil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 22:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20553803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asrael_Valtiri/pseuds/Asrael_Valtiri
Summary: For Kylux xoxo Summerfest 2019 Roadtrip--X/Journey/Map. Better late than never.Ben Solo has an encounter at a crossroads...





	We're Fractions of a Star

Ben had been driving for hours, alone, in his rattletrap car. His car was old enough to have a tape deck, but it had died somewhere around St. Louis. For the last few hours, he’d made due with the downloaded music on his old laptop, but it wasn’t loud enough, and its battery desperately needed a recharge. Now, most of what he could catch on the radio was country, which he’d really rather not. So for the last half hour, he drove in silence. 

As Highway 70 rolled into the distance, he saw a giant crown shape off to his left. A baseball stadium. Since he’d barely registered anything but cars and blacktop for the last few days, he only now surmised where he was.

Kansas City, Missouri. 

Kauffman Stadium.

Huh, the New York boy thought, Kansas City is a city--it has actual sports teams.

He’d stopped in St. Louis briefly, but the city had a fast pace that reminded him too much of home, albeit on a smaller scale. It was pretty, it had history, but it made his skin itch with anxiety for no discernible reason.

But Kansas City. She seemed to call to him. Cowtown, he thought. He couldn’t recall where he’d heard that.

Oh, he remembered with chagrin.

Poe.

He frowned. Finn and Rey had married each other, but they couldn’t leave Poe for him. Poe had moved in with them happily. He told Ben the very day Ben had finally gotten up the nerve to confess his own feelings to Poe. But, unbeknownst to Ben, Poe had already been with Finn and Rey for a few months before he moved into their modest home in Queens.

Inconsolable, Ben had managed to avoid them all and pack up his belongings a week later, left his parents with a note on the table, and proceeded to ignore their calls on his cell phone.

He’d just graduated from college. He had a degree, his guitar, a suitcase, his laptop, and his cell phone. Access to his bank account, which had a nice nest egg from both of his parents and even more wealthy grandparents. He was good. He could do this. He wasn’t lonely. He was striking out on his own.

He feared he was a just a spoiled rich boy having an existential crisis brought on by privilege and for once not getting what he wanted.

Twenty minutes later, when the sunset backlit the city, he nearly wept for its beauty.

He didn’t know why, but it tugged at his heart. It pulled him right in.

He took the exit for 35 South and went under some strange, long building stretching over the highway that looked like something out of a science fiction movie, with weird sculptures atop it. A sign said it was Bartle Hall.

He followed the highway in confusion, and it actually pulled him from the downtown area. He cursed and moved to the far left lane. The traffic wasn’t nearly as bad as New York City, but it still moved slowly, although it thinned out as most of the rush hour traffic headed toward Kansas.

He took an exit as soon as he could. On Broadway, he found a place to turn around and aim himself back towards downtown. This was easier because he discovered he could avoid the highway. He drove down the street along the park surrounding the National WWI Museum, past a road below that swept past Union Station, and over a bridge that brought him back to downtown.

He drove around, confused further by alternating one-way streets and the crowds of people milling about. Eventually, he parked in a spot he hoped was legal. He threw all his shit in the trunk and locked his car.

He was by some place called Up-Down. There were already people outside, even though it was only six on a Friday. Ben walked over and looked at the patio, at the signs outside. Plenty of bros. Poe could have made easy friends with them. Two of them were playing a large Connect Four.

Ben approached the door.

“Hey,” said the barman jovially. “ID?”

“Oh, sure,” Ben replied and pulled it out. “What is this place?”

The doorman, a young guy with a mop of curly hair, raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Bar and arcade. We’ve got classic arcade games, pinball, skeeball. Beer. Pizza.”

He had Ben at pizza. He hadn’t eaten all day. He entered and very nearly regretted it.

It was loud inside, a crush of bodies at the bar as he walked through the door. He shoved his way past, looking in desperation for the pizza. Which he found all the way across the large room, in the farthest possible corner.

He ordered two pieces and nearly cried when he saw they were vaguely New York style. He folded his mac-and-cheese pizza in half and wolfed it down. He watched people playing skeeball for awhile. 

A woman approached him as he was more calmly eating his second piece.

  
“Hey,” she said.

He nodded, mouth full, eyes turning to the overhead TVs playing 80s movies and 90s wrestling matches.

“My name is Peera.”

“Ben.” He watched the Undertaker rise up from the mat as if he rose from a coffin.

“What’s your drink?” she asked with a smile.

“Uh, oh,” he stammered. “I’m driving.”

“Very responsible. I approve. What’s your game then?”

“I, uh, just got here?” 

The Ultimate Warrior flexed, his arm ribbons floating like a halo.

“Oh, as in, into town?”

“Yeah.” He flicked a glance to her.

“Well, I could show you around, if you’d like.”

“Uh, no. No thanks. I just--no. I’m going to leave, actually,” he replied. Was she actually trying to hit on him? He gulped down the last of his pizza.

“You just got here, Ben. Let me buy you a drink. We could chat. I’m really good at pinball.”

“No, thanks. I really gotta go,” he said and, leaving his plate and napkins, ran out the door beside her.

He couldn’t handle that right now. Not when he still wanted Poe. When he was upset about Finn getting his cousin and the love of his life both, and leaving him with no one. Poe was his love, and Rey his best friend. Finn was fine, but he had everything Ben wanted. He was affable, kind, handsome, intelligent, good with people. People always liked him.

People always thought they might like Ben, before he proved them wrong.

Really, he was saving Peera the trouble by fleeing. 

He raced around the building back to his car, opened it, and flung himself into the driver’s seat. He leaned over the wheel, gulping air, counting his breaths, trying to calm himself.

This was a mistake. He should have stopped in Harrisonville or Boonville or Rocheport, or any of the other small towns off Highway 70. Not another city. Not on a Friday, with all these people.

He raised his head as a clump of middle-aged white people walked down in button-downs and capris. He watched them cross the street. A moment later, some younger people in jeans and dresses went by, going in the same direction. Then some art kids. he wondered where they might be headed, when a flash of red caught his eye from the next group of people.

His eyes followed the flash of red, his gaze intent on it, as if it called to him. Suddenly the flash of red moved, and he found eyes staring at him. He couldn’t make out the color, or the face attached to them, but he saw the person had a guitar case.

Ben had a thought, random and stray; before he could question it, he got out of the car and retrieved his own guitar from the trunk, and followed the flash of red.

As soon as he crossed the street, he lost the redheaded lure. He walked around with his guitar until he grew tired and agitated from the crush of people.

He was on Wyandotte St. by some art galleries before he discovered what the press of humanity was doing.

First Friday in the Crossroads, the sign said. It was outside a gallery in a refurbished old building, the kind with giant lofts and old elevators for animals or feight.

He peeked into the windows at the art, at people drinking tiny cups of wine, and deduced that he was at a pretentious, crowded city event where people moved too slowly looking at art they didn’t comprehend.

He got twitchy.

Then he heard a guitar. He turned around looking for the player, and red flashed before his eyes again.

He walked around for a few minutes before he got disoriented and pulled out his phone. He turned on his data reluctantly, to find his location. He was a few blocks from his car, he discovered with some dismay. He followed the map on his phone to keep track of where he was, and the city gradually began to make sense, now that he could see the layout.

He leaned against a wall and examined more, seeing where he was in relation to where he’d turned around an hour ago. He smiled.

And heard the guitar again. Nearby this time.

He hurried around the corner before he lost it again.

And there, guitar case open and full of cash, was the flash of red, cohering into a tall, slim, pale creature playing the hell out of Rodrigo. A small circle of people stood close together watching the creature, a man of such inhuman beauty Ben could barely look at him.

His green eyes slid to Ben’s face without missing a chord, and his full lips broke into a smile. He finished, the spell was broken, and the dazed crowd dispersed, each person looking confused but enraptured--as if they’d just witnessed God perform a miracle, but were in the process of forgetting it.

The man let his guitar rest against his leg and stared at Ben.

“Hello,” he said. His accent was clipped, precise, British.

“Hi,” Ben muttered.

“You’ve been looking for me,” the man said.

“No! I mean, I’m not following you. I heard you playing--”

“I saw you by Up-Down, and now you’ve followed my playing to me. Ergo, you are following me--”

“Ben,” Ben told him readily.

“Hux,” the man said and smiled.

He was too beautiful, Ben thought. He wasn’t much for one-night stands, had never had one, in fact. But he suddenly had the very distinct impression that he’d go to bed with this man, if he asked.

Hux’s smile grew wider, sharper, as if he’d sensed Ben’s thoughts.

But he only asked, “Do you play?” instead, nodding to Ben’s guitar.

“Yeah. A bit.”

“Let me hear.”

So Ben took his classical from its case, tuned it, and began to play.

“Not bad. What’s that piece?” Hux asked.

Ben shrugged. “I wrote it.”

He’d written it for Poe, but he didn’t say that.

“It’s a romantic tune, but it sounds so melancholy,” Hux said. He suddenly seemed so close.

Ben shrugged.

“Play more,” Hux told him.

So Ben did. His fingers stumbled on the chords at first, but he gained confidence as he continued. He could almost feel the music flowing through him. As if he were the instrument, a cypher for some code he was unlocking from the universe. He closed his eyes, for once not watching his fingers pick out the chords, just letting them happen.

After he knew not how long, he stopped, and the sound of clapping slowly came to him. He felt far from shore, being pulled in by a strange tide. He opened his eyes, and people smiled at him before disappearing again.

He had a mountain of cash in his case.

“What the--”

“Well done,” Hux said. “You’ve real potential there, Ben.” And Hux smiled like a shark again, toothy, feral, beautiful.

“No, I’m really not that good.”

“I beg to differ. You are good. You could be great.”

Hux leaned beside him against the wall. Ben turned toward the pinkish facade. The windows read Crossroads Dentistry.

Hux turned as well. He laughed.

“Ever hear of Robert Johnson?” he asked.

“Of course. My dad and uncles are into old blues and stuff. He supposedly sold his soul to the devil so he could be, like, the best guitarist ever or something.”

“Indeed.” Hux’s eyes glowed a piercing green as he looked Ben up and down.

“I don’t need fame or fortune,” Ben sighed. “My family is loaded. They give tons to charity every year because they need to get rid of it. And my mom’s a goodie-goodie senator. I don’t want the fame. I don’t really like attention.”

“Well, if the devil could give you something, what would you want?”

Ben paused. He looked away from Hux’s painfully beautiful face. A tear slid down his long nose as he said, “Poe.”

“Edgar Allen?”

“No. My friend. I’ve been in love with him for years, but--”

“Ah, say no more. He chose other people.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. How did Hux know Poe chose people, not a person? Instead of asking, he simply said, “There was no choice. He didn’t know how I felt.”

“So,” Hux leaned in close, “you’d want to, what, seduce him with the song you wrote for him? Win his affections? In exchange for your soul?”

Now, Ben did voice his surprise. “How did you know I wrote that for him?”

“Please It’s obvious, once I knew your tale.”

Hux looked him up and down. His nostrils grew wide as he inhaled his scent.

“Sorry, been on the road all day.”

“No, you smell delicious,” Hux replied.

Ben knew that should disturb him. Hux was very forward, very strange, but he was so flattering, confident, talented; Ben wondered if he could absorb some of that just by being near him.

And Hux was mesmerizing. He smelled like starlight and forest and campfire. His pale hands held the neck of his guitar gently, stroking up and down the wood. Ben’s mouth watered. His cock stirred in his pants. Even though Hux focused on his face, he suddenly smiled wolfishly.

Ben swallowed thickly. “My soul isn’t worth much, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm. You’re wrong, but you’re in a bad place, so I’ll forgive you.”

Then Hux bent and collected his own money, folded it into his wallet--now fat with all the cash--and packed up his guitar.

“Oh. Well, it was nice to meet you, Hux,” Ben said. He assumed that was the signal for him to get out of Hux’s face and began to pack up his own guitar.

“So, you’re in Kansas City to escape, huh?” Hux asked, staring down at him.

“Yeah, basically,” Ben said, still focused on closing his guitar case. He tried not to sound too disappointed. 

“So, you’re not staying anywhere?”

“No. I don’t know anyone here.”

He heard Hux hum thoughtfully.

“Well, come with me then.”

Ben finally looked up at him.

“What? Do I need to give you my soul for somewhere to stay?” he laughed awkwardly.

Hux didn’t laugh. Ben knew he wasn’t funny, but he still felt even more like shit for someone like Hux to think so too.

“Sometimes a devil wants more than just a soul, you know? The trick is old and trite, and it’s lonely being the devil. I mean, exiled from home, lonely, trying to find your place in the world--are you sure you’re not the devil, Ben?” Hux asked and chuckled.

Ben flushed.

“Come on, where’s your car? Let’s drop these off and go somewhere else.”

“It’s a ways,” Ben said. 

Hux shrugged. “If you’re amenable, I’ll tag along. We can chat. Go somewhere, have a drink.” Hux cocked his head, considered. “Do you have anywhere to stay?” he asked again.

Ben shook his head.

“Then I shall lay claim to you this evening,” Hux proclaimed happily, “if that’s okay?” he added, and lowered his lashes coquettishly. 

“Sure. As long as we both promise not to eat each other’s souls, right?”

Hux quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I make no promises, Ben. It’ll depend on how tasty I find you.”

Ben knew he should find Hux odd, but he rather was allured, much to his own mortification. Perhaps it was Hux’s attitude and looks, and Ben was so lonely, his heart such a mangled mess, that he followed Hux easily. As if Hux were the Pied Piper, and he was a child with only the compulsion to obey Hux’s tune.

They arrived at Ben’s car and stowed the guitars. Hux took him by the hand and led him through the streets.

Ben’s skin felt heated. From where Hux held his hand, the warmth emanated and spread all over him, prickling his scalp, tingling his loins; he felt an overwhelming desire to kiss the other man, which was more than passing strange. He’d been friends with Poe for years, his affection gradually building block by block, stone by stone, until he had erected an edifice in his heart that he meant to be Poe’s; but no, he was alone, behind its walls. Yet Hux had scaled those walls in no time, even though he felt a twinge in his gut when the man looked at him. A warning, of sorts.

After a few minutes, Hux stopped them at what seemed to be a bus stop. A few other people waited under the roof. In another moment, Ben saw a long, white streetcar coming up the street. It stopped before them and rang an electric bell. He noticed the track now and the throngs of people moving in and out. Hux pulled him inside and crammed in beside him by the back wall of the car.

It was clean and bright inside and smelled of people freshly decked out for the night, before alcohol and sweat and sex took over the air. Ben smiled nervously as a woman in a black dress eyed him. Hux leaned in close and put his hand on Ben’s chest. The woman’s mouth rounded in surprise, but she nodded, smiled, and turned away.

“Oh, she fancied you,” Hux whispered and didn’t remove his hand from Ben’s chest. “Many of them do. You don’t realize just how lovely you are, do you?” he asked into Ben’s ear and gave it a lick.

“Hux!” Ben yelped.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” Hux pulled away.

Ben’s ear burned. Not so much with embarrassment as arousal. He gulped in air.

After a few stops, Hux pulled him out of the streetcar and down another block or two to a bar.

“The recordBar?”

“Yes, there’s an interesting show here tonight,” Hux said. “It’s nice. A bit crowded, but there’s usually good music, good beer. I’ve been coming here for years. It was even better when it was in Midtown, but it’s still enjoyable. I like to call it the Devil’s Playground.”   
  


Ben could hear the capital letters, but didn’t know what that meant. Was it a fetish bar, or a goth bar?

No, it was just a regular music venue.

Hux paid for their entrances and then dragged Ben to the bar along the left side of the open space. In the back of the room, by the door, were a few tables, booths along the opposite side, the sound guy. In the middle was just open floor. It was very dark, but Hux’s hair and skin were beacons to Ben. He stayed as close as possible, people pushing around him every which way.

Hux put his fist on the bar and ordered two beers. Ben didn’t see an exchange of money at all, but Hux left $10 for a tip.

“Generous,” Ben said.

“Treat people well, they treat you well. Even redheaded devils like me.”

“What is this beer?”

“Ah. I should have asked, but I thought you’d like a summer beer. Local brewery, though now they’re owned by Duvel. Boulevard lemon ginger shandy. I’ve their Tank 7.”

Hux held out his beer for Ben to taste. Rich and too much for him. He made a face, tested his shandy. Lighter, sweeter, with a nice ginger bite. Hux guessed well.

“I could tell you liked gingers,” Hux murmured into his ear.

Too soon, too soon, Ben’s mind yelled at him, but he smiled and shrugged. “Maybe.”

Hux grinned and took a quaff of his own beer. He closed his eyes in ecstasy and smiled. “One of the best beers I’ve ever had. In my top ten.”

“How many have you had, Hux?”

Hux opened one eye. “Many eons worth, boy.”

Ben smirked.

“Don’t believe me? I keep records of good alcohol. Extensive. Stretching back years.”

“Why?”

“I’m a hedonist. I spent years of my...youth being very good and received nothing for it. So now, I do what I want.”

“I was never very good,” Ben admitted. “I have a lot of...issues? And I exhaust people. I’m on medication, but I have a shit ton of anger and anxiety still. Is that TMI?”

Hux studied him for a moment before answering. At last, he said, “Not at all, Ben. Anger is something I understand all too well. There is nothing wrong with you. I find you very charming.”

“Yeah, right now. Just wait.”

“Oh, I give as good as I get, don’t worry. In everything I do,” Hux replied with a strange intonation.

“Why do you make everything sound flirty?”

“Because I’m flirting, silly boy.”

Oh. Ben’s eyes grew wide. How in all hells was this beautiful creature flirting with him? Yes, okay, Ben knew that sometimes people found him to be hot, but once he opened his mouth, most people decided his looks weren’t worth the awkward. Even in college, he’d only had a few dates, a couple of makeouts. 

That was it.

Hux’s eyes widened, as if he could hear Ben’s thoughts.

He slipped his arm through Ben’s as a band began to play and led him closer to the stage. A diminutive blond woman began playing her guitar and singing in her wispy voice and was joined by two men. Ben was stunned that three people could make so much noise! And it was so fun! They drank beer and laughed and danced, and Ben forgot about the people around him for just a little while.

  
  


_ I want your eyes to widen again _

_ They’re heavy with bags, tired with tales _

_ Your hand, put it right there, I’m taking you somewhere, somewhere to  _

_ live. _

  
  


As the song ended, Ben felt tears in his eyes. He turned to see Hux watching him. The other man smiled at him, put an arm around his waist to hold him more closely, and rested his head on Ben’s shoulder. They swayed gently together amidst the crowd of people.

After the encore, and many beers later, the bar kicked everyone out. They wandered the streets, Ben leaning heavily on Hux’s lithe frame, until they returned to Ben’s car. Somehow, Hux got him buckled in. When Hux got behind the wheel, Ben said,

“Woah, we should get a cap--cab.”

“I’m perfectly sober,” Hux replied and looked at him.

He looked sober.

“No way,” Ben said.

“Yes. I never get drunk. It is virtually impossible.”

“How?”

Hux shrugged. “Come home with me.”

Ben looked at him.

  
“I won’t take advantage of you until you’re sober. I promise.”

“But I want you to. Promise.”

“Once upon a time, maybe, but I’m far too old for that now. Bad form and all.”

“No one ever wants to fuck me,” Ben said suddenly, and he began to cry.

Hux observed him quietly for a moment as his shoulders shook. Ben had his face in his hands. Hux reached out and ran his hand up Ben’s thigh. He kept his touch slow, gentle, tender. Hux grinned at his own attentiveness.

“Hey, I told you to come home with me, didn’t I?”

“Out of pity, I’m sure,” Ben sniffed.

“No. I don’t bring pretty boys home out of pity, Ben. I bring them home because I think they’re pretty.”

Ben peeked from between his fingers. “I can’t believe that. I’m hardly what one would call pretty,” he muttered.

Hux shook his head. Said,” You’d be very wrong. I’m an expert on beauty.”

Hux turned on the car, cranked the air, and backed out of the parking spot.

“If you don’t want fame and fortune, I assume you have enough to buy a new car?” Hux asked after a while.

Ben shrugged. “Yeah, but I paid for this with my own money, and I’ve got years of good memories. Wasn’t ready to let her go yet.”

He used to drive Poe to and from school in this car, and later college. Even later, he dropped him off that last time at Rey and Finn’s.

Ben fancied that Poe’s scent had remained in the car for days afterward. Another week even. But by the time he hit O’Fallon, he couldn’t pretend anymore. He’d covered many miles feeding that hopeless delusion. At least now he couldn’t recall Poe’s scent.

And Hux smelled so good. Maybe he could smell Hux all the way to San Francisco or Portland.

After only a few blocks, Hux pulled into a garage and parked. He pulled a tag from his pocket and affixed it to Ben’s rearview mirror.

“Here we are, baby,” Hux chirped.

“A garage?”

“No, silly. Two Light. I believe in living luxuriously, yet tastefully. Come now.”

Hux got Ben, Ben’s guitar, and his suitcase out of the car. Ben managed to follow him, albeit empty-handed, to an elevator. Ben barely recalled walking down a hallway to a door, and then Hux was putting his luggage down to pull him inside.

  
  


**

  
  


Hux fed him, plied him with water, and sent him to bathe. Ben stood in a large double shower and washed himself with fancier toiletries than he’d ever bothered to use. When he was finished, he wrapped himself in a plush black robe that was perhaps the softest thing he’d ever had touch his skin.

Sobered far more now, he looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red from the water and from the weeping. He could hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror.

Perhaps, if he were more handsome, or if he’d been more bold or had a better temper--

As soon as his thoughts began to spiral, Hux opened the door. He stared hard at Ben, as if he could sense Ben’s tumultuous state, and then reached out his hand.

“Come with me, Ben,” he said softly.

Without thinking, Ben obeyed, as if the mere sound of Hux’s voice compelled him to obey. He suddenly wanted nothing more than for Hux to tell him what to do, always, to let Hux fix his life, to remain here at his side and allow Hux to determine everything for him.

Hux smiled, as if he knew these things.

Perhaps he did.

He brought Ben to a long ice blue couch in a white room accented in grays and blacks. There was a gas fireplace; despite the warmth of the night, Hux had a fire going, and it felt perfect to Ben. There were strange art pieces around on bookshelves filled with books, on the mantel, on an end table. A framed triptych print of Bosch’s  _ Garden of Delights  _ hung above the mantel. The other pieces looked strange to Ben--black, oozing things with doll heads and appendages sticking out of them; sinister porcelain dolls made to look inhuman; sculpted skeletons with fairy wings in birdcages. And above the door, an upside-down cross.

“Oh, fuck--are you about to sacrifice me, Hux?” Ben laughed awkwardly. “I just might let you.”

“Whyever would you ask that, dear Ben?” Hux chuckled. He sat beside Ben on the couch and put a hand on his bared knee.

Ben looked at him. Hux looked even more radiant, if possible. His eyes were a strangely vibrant green, like the green spectrum of the Aurora Borealis; his pupils were mere slits in his eyes. As he smiled at Ben, his incisors seemed to sharpen.

“Oh fuck,” Ben yelped and leapt from the couch, out of Hux’s reach.

Hux pulled his hand back and looked up at Ben, confused. Almost hurt, but Ben thought that wasn’t possible.

“We met at the Crossroads, Ben. I can give you whatever you want. Money, fame, women, men--name it,” Hux said. “I’ll give you anything you want.” His voice pleaded.

“What the actual fuck. Am I actually having, like, a Robert Johnson moment here? Like, you give me whatever, and I become the best guitarist, and you get my soul?”

“Do you want to be the best guitarist ever?”

“No. I’m already good.”

“What do you want, Ben?” Hux asked. He rose from the couch, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel, and his pale skin glowed. Ben wanted to taste it, but he knew it was only Hux wielding his weird, secret power.

“What the hell are you?” Ben asked.

Hux laid a hand upon Ben’s chest and said, “I’m lonely. Millennia of spite have left me feeling empty. Many of my kind feel only anger or sorrow, they lash out. I’ve done it for so long, I tire of it. I want to change things, but I can only change myself. I’m lonely, and so are you.”

Ben shoved Hux away. “ Are you, like, a fucking demon? That’s insane!”

“I’m not  _ a _ demon. I’m  _ the _ demon.”

“So, what, you want my soul? Does that make you feel better? Do you eat me? What do you even want?”

“The question is, what do you want?”

Ben’s mouth snapped shut. Hux regarded him calmly, but his green eyes sparkled with some strange form of desire.

A desire that called to Ben. What did he want? He had wanted Poe, but that was finished. To force Hux to give him Poe would be a violation. If Poe didn’t choose Ben, there would be no satisfaction in demonically controlling Poe. Ben rubbed his hand across his face.

“I want--” He paused.

“You want your friend, yes?” Hux asked quietly. He looked sad and small.

Can the devil be sad and small? Ben wondered. Apparently.

“I want,” Ben continued, “someone to want me. Someone to just love me, for myself. No one ever wants just me,” he said, and his face crumpled.

People wanted a senator’s son, or a friend, or a strong body; but no one ever desired just the man Ben. Hux gave a little smile, as if he understood.

“I want you, Ben,” he said. “If you give yourself to me, I will be yours forever.”

“Don’t you lie?” Ben asked.

“Only in self-defense,” said the devil. He held out his hand.

And suddenly, Ben knew why he had come. Why he had felt the need to drive halfway across the country to this city, this moment in time. Why he had stopped in Kansas City at the Crossroads.

He wondered if Hux felt a similar compulsion.

“Yes,” he replied without Ben having to ask.

“Kiss me,” Ben said, to test his theory.

Hux kissed him. And the entire universe coalesced into this one moment, as if it had placed them here just for each other, man and devil.


End file.
